Exiles (Aaron Falk #3)(18)

This woman in the bar wasn’t his ex, obviously—she was still in Sydney as far as he knew, which was probably best all around. They’d met at a mutual colleague’s wedding, and for eighteen months it had been good without being great for either of them. His colleague Carmen had swung between frustration and disappointment when she heard they’d split up. You two had so much in common, she kept saying, and she’d been right.

Plenty in common, like how they were both with the AFP based out of Melbourne. And how they both had individual workloads that didn’t leave much time or space for anything else. There had been other factors as well, though. Like the fact she was at her happiest when they visited her family on the peninsula, where she would swim and play with her nieces and help out for hours in her brother-in-law’s bookshop, and have long lazy dinners on the back deck with the scent of jasmine heavy in the evening air. An old high school boyfriend, now a friendly divorced single dad, seemed to be around often enough to make everyone but the pair of them a little uncomfortable. At night, she’d whisper to Falk across the bedsheets in her sister’s spare room. It’s so parochial, she’d say, in a tone that made it sound both like a joke and something else completely.

But there was no denying she was different there—lighter and softer, her eyes and mouth taking on a new shape. Just as she was always different again on their return to Melbourne and to work. Brittle and brisk for a week as her hard professional edge slowly resurfaced, sharp and painful.

“You’re different, too,” she’d thrown back at Falk the one and only time he’d raised it.

When she’d been offered a transfer and promotion in Sydney, it had come as something of a relief for both of them. She’d accepted the opportunity almost defiantly, this new role based right in the urban heart of a different state, a long way from her little nieces and the peninsula swims and the independent bookshop. She’d made the arrangements as if daring Falk to challenge her decision. He’d thought about it—seriously and carefully—and then hadn’t, and was very aware that she felt let down by that. So she’d gone, leaving some gaps in his social life and a few more in his living room—why did losing a girlfriend always involve losing furniture? he wondered—and then quickly, very quickly in fact, the gaps had closed over as though they’d never been there. For the past year, whenever Raco or Rita had asked what he’d been up to, Falk always gave the same honest answer: work, mainly.

A gust of cold air blew in straight off the Yarra as the bar’s door opened and then closed, and Falk checked the time. Raco was late—unusually for him—and Falk finally, reluctantly, surrendered his spot and fought his way to the counter. He was scrolling through his emails and half-heartedly attempting to get served when his phone buzzed in his hand.

A text from Raco. Bloody stuck here, will try to call …

A young bartender suddenly materialized in front of Falk, saw him looking at his phone, and turned immediately to the woman at the bar next to him, with a snapped: “Yep?”

“Ah, I’ll…” The woman paused, also distracted as her own screen lit up in her hand. The bartender didn’t attempt to suppress his eye roll. She looked up and caught him at it.

“Sorry,” she said, and he softened a little. “I’m supposed to be meeting someone, but he’s just messaged and—” She stopped herself. The bartender clearly could not care less. She gestured to Falk. “Maybe let this guy go ahead while I…”

Her navy-blue coat was dotted with rain, and she’d brought the cold in with her. She put her phone down on the countertop and wound her damp hair into a quick, loose bun on top of her head as she frowned at the lit-up screen. As she lowered her arms, she eased her bag off her shoulder and onto the empty stool in front of her. Two wrapped children’s gifts were visible inside; the label on the top one read: Baby Raco.

Falk twisted to look at her properly now, bumping against a young guy standing too close behind him. “You’re here to meet Greg Raco?” he said. “His friend from South Australia?”

“Yeah.” She turned in surprise. The bartender threw them both a look of impatience and moved on. “Are you … Adam?”

“Aaron. Falk.” He held out his hand.

“That’s right, sorry.” She smiled as she took it, her palm cool from the evening air. “Gemma Tozer. Hi.” She glanced at her phone. “Did you just get—”

As if on cue, Falk’s own mobile rang. This is him now, he gestured as he answered, covering his other ear to drown out the chatter and music.

“Mate, sorry, this is the first chance I’ve had to step out—” Raco launched straight into a rambling explanation that Falk only half caught. The course instructor had been urgently called away, the replacement was now running well behind. They had to get through it tonight so the officers could all get back to their home turfs before the weekend shifts.

“Listen,” Raco was saying. “Gemma’ll be arriving any minute, I’ll call her—”

“She’s here now, mate. Hang on, I’ll pass you over—” Falk had held out his phone to the woman. “He’s stuck there.”

“Not going to make it?”

“Doesn’t sound hopeful.”

“Okay.” She’d undone her coat and underneath was wearing a knee-length patterned dress that gathered at the waist. She dried her damp hands against the hem before taking Falk’s phone and listening for a minute, concentrating to hear over the noise.